


You Got the Devil in Your Eyes

by quicksylver28



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Civil War Team Iron Man, Dark Tony Stark, Demon Tony Stark, M/M, Murder, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 16:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksylver28/pseuds/quicksylver28
Summary: The Rogue Avengers were fond of calling Tony Stark the #ActualDevil. Always making him the villain of the piece.They never imagined how right they were.





	You Got the Devil in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. This idea came to me while i was walking home one day. it kind of started as a crackfic but turned into this monster under my very nose. 
> 
> i really enjoyed writing this and just letting out all my frustration with TeamCap throughout the whole MCU time line. I have also been watching a whole bunch of horror movies this month so i'm in a bit of a morbid mood.
> 
> Please be warned, this story has death and a lot of people getting what's coming to them in gruesome ways. it's not too graphic but i'm pretty blunt about a lot of disturbing concepts.
> 
> Just saying. Be careful. 
> 
> That being said. Enjoy.

Siberia was cold. Freezing cold. The kind of cold that burned. It wasn't the ice that was the worst, the falling temperatures or the depressing raw concrete of the walls of what just might become his tomb.

 

No, it was the wind that made his situation twice as un-fucking-bearable than it already was. It howled, loud and obnoxious in his ears, drumming into his brain like thin icy shards that vibrated through his skull. It grated against his exposed skin and bit at the tips of his fingers and nose. It dried out his eyes, rubbing along his sensitive sclera like sand paper.

 

The wind had a way of finding even the smallest crack in his broken armor, and there were many. It seemed to worm its wicked long fingers through the wrecked suit, past the torn undergarments and into his aching skin; burrowing into him like so many sharp needles.

 

The migraine he'd been half nursing, half ignoring on the strength of his own will and stubbornness; seemed to resonate in his skull like a struck tuning fork. He hitched a breath, pain radiating through his entire torso; the freezing air crawling into his lungs and digging claws into the soft tissue. He coughed harshly, vision going white as his chest seized and every part of him screamed in agony.

 

An eternity passed before awareness returned. He found himself sprawled on his side, something metal digging into his torso; most likely some part of the suit bent inwards from the epic beat down he'd just experienced at the hands of Captain Asshole and his bestie, Buttface Barnes.

 

Agony pulsed along his nerves like a heartbeat, radiating from that spot outwards. He could feel something warm and wet along soaking through his underclothes and gathering in the fractured panels of the suit; mostly likely his life's blood dripping away minute by minute.

 

He was going to die here. He knew it.

 

He was going to bleed out on the nasty, barren floor of this God forsaken Siberian bunker. If he didn't die of hypothermia first. The very thought of his lungs slowly flooding and drowning him in his own fluids seemed a nightmare come to life.

 

He tried to move, tried to reach up and trigger the suit's release but his limbs wouldn't co-operate. His fingers twitched violently but nothing else seemed to want to obey. He was alone here. He couldn't call for help. He'd lost contact with Friday sometime during the fight and it would be a while before her programming determined him 'out of touch' long enough for her to scramble assistance.

 

Vision was most likely caught up in everything going on back in Germany, dealing with the Accords Council and Ross by himself as the last remaining Avenger, seeing as Tony was MIA and Rhodey Bear in the hospital. His Honey Graham had still been unconscious by the time he'd snuck off to assist Rogers. As it was, Tony would probably be dead by the time his Platypus finally woke up.

 

He was never going to see his best friend again. The thought hit Tony like a bomb to the chest. And seeing that he'd actually experienced a bomb to the chest once, he had intimate knowledge in how much that fucking hurt. 

 

Fuck. He missed his Rhodey. He missed his Pepper, even though they were no longer as close as they once were. He missed Happy, his silent support and cheeseburger dealer.

 

He missed JARVIS most of all. His baby boy. His number one son.

 

Killed by Ultron and Tony's own hubris.

 

JARVIS would have known what to do when Tony went off comms. He would have lit a fire under the Accords Council's collective ass and would have had a team heading out to Siberia in two shakes of a rabbit's tail. JARVIS would have saved Tony. Like he'd been saving Tony since his programming first booted up, giving a drunk and depressed teen genius a reason to get up the next morning.

 

But JARVIS was gone. Not that he didn't love Friday but JARVIS was his son, his sass-monster, his mother-hen and right hand. But he was gone and soon Tony would be too. Alone and cold in a fucking Hydra bunker with five dead super soldiers as an honour guard.

 

And a burnt off arm. And a shield.

 

He could just see the edge of the shield from where he lay. A curve of glinting silver in the corner of his eye.

 

Fucking Rogers. What a fucking hypocrite.

 

After everything he'd done. After every hand out and hand up he'd given the Man out of Time. Every path he'd paved and made smooth for Rogers and his team who had followed along after him like ducklings.

 

Rogers, who Tony had hoped would be his counter balance in this new world of superheroes. The good man, humble, steadfast. A man of the people, someone down to earth to bring a new perspective to Tony's world of wealth and high society.

 

And for a while there things had been good…. Well, they'd been ok at least. Not all Tony's hoped for and dreamed for but it was a good beginning. There'd been hope for a better future. They'd been a team… slowly but surely moving towards something that could be a family.

 

Then there's been Washington. And SHIELDRA

 

And Steve' Rogers' kryptonite.

 

James Buchanan Barnes.

 

Bucky Fucking barnes

 

Tch.

 

Then It had been one shit show after another and it had been all he could do to keep his head above water. Keeping his chin up above the surface all the while paddling like hell underneath. And he' kept paddling and paddling while others had kept piling shit on him by the barrow full.

 

Now he was laying in an cold and lonely bunker in a broken suit, a broken body, a burnt off arm and abandoned shield. Frankly, he was tired of swimming in shit not of his own making. But that was a moot point now as he was probably going to die in this forsaken frozen hell with an icy wind blowing up his ass through a crack in the suit.

 

Abruptly, the wind died down, leaving the sudden silence in its wake that seemed almost deafening in itself for the lack of sound. The hairs rose on the back of his head, goose bumps raising on his chilled skin.

 

Then, in the stark silence of that abandoned place, he heard a sound. A faint yet steady clack clack from the darkness of the inner bunker. Slowly, surely, the sound grew louder; coming towards him like some approaching boogie-man, a creature born of darkness and terror. He strained his ears beyond the heavy thumping of his heart, unable to lift his head to look at the fate slowly creeping towards him.

 

His mind raced, thoughts and ideas pulled up and dismissed in moments. What could he do? What was this thing coming towards him? Was it Hydra? Was it one of the Winter Soldiers recovered from their wounds? Was it Rogers come back for his shield? Was it Barnes come back for his arm so that he'd could use it to choke Tony to death like he'd done Maria? Was it Vision come to rescue him? Or Friday in an empty suit? What it the Council's task force? Led by Thaddeus Ross himself?

 

Or was Tony just losing his mind mere hours before his death?

 

That would figure, wouldn't it? Shit.

 

Someone stepped into his line of sight and he started, wincing when the movement shot spikes of pain through his body. He gritted his teeth at the agony and concentrated on the figure in front of him.

 

He blinked at the sight of a pair of Brian Atwood fur covered designer high heeled, ankle boots, the silver fur trim looking warm and luxurious against the sheen of the silver heels. The figure stooped over him, the deep navy suit with ultra-thin silver pinstripe hugging sensuous and generous curves. A pair of dove grey gloved hands played with the end of a lush, grey mink stole; tugging the fur closer around the deep swooping neckline of the suit coat.

 

Blood read lips smirked, powerful and luscious against luminescent chocolate skin. A carefully careless flip of silver hair, coifed into a mohawk, curled gently around a sharp, angular jaw and flopped half way over burning silver eyes.

 

Tony squinted, his eyes taking in every details before he shrugged and let himself flop back against his suit. "Oh… it's you. " he huffed irritably, "What do you want? Can't you see I'm dying here?"

 

Crimson lips parted in a grin that was more the baring of sharpened teeth. The voice was deep and melodious,   resonating right through him. "I can see that. So dramatic as always, Dearest."

 

Gloved fingertips ran along his temple, scraping off flakes of iced blood before letting them fall to the frozen ground.  "Haven't you had enough yet? This had gone way passed being stubborn now, don't you think?."

 

Tony watched the bloody snowflakes float passed his vision, his eyebrows scrunching together in annoyance. "If you say one thing about my ego I'll…"

 

"Tut tut" the voice interrupted. "We are way passed ego, my Flame. You're running completely on spite now, just to upset me. We could have ended this ages ago. Must you be such a spoilsport about things Ἀλκιβιάδης?"

 

Tony shrugged weakly, the corner of his lips curling in an attempt to sneer. "All I have left now is spite and dang orneriness."

 

The figure chuckled low and it curled warm in Tony's belly like a long lost memory. They let out a deep sigh, tinged with fond and familiar exasperation. "And look where that has got you now…." a gloved hand waved at the bunker in general, "Broken and bloody in a frozen wasteland, far from all those you love."  
 

"Yeah well…" Tony grimaced, trying to resettle his mangled body inside the suit. "A wager's still a wager and I haven't lost one yet."

 

"Now that's your ego talking." The figure huffed, pushing themselves into a standing position. A sharp toed heel nudged against the suit's hip panel, dragging a pained grunt from Tony. "This has gone on for far much longer than any of the others ever thought it would, to be honest. But I know all too well what a stubborn cuss you really are when you get your blood up. Remember Pompeii. That was a shit storm and a half."

 

Tony chuckled, crying out as he felt something grate inside him. "Pompeii was a fucking riot. You're just sore because I won."

 

The toe nudged him again, this time pushing him unto his back with a loud scrape and clang. Tony screamed, blood appearing at the corners of his mouth in tiny bubbles.

 

"Slag." he gasped out, his eyes rolling in their sockets. "I won't lose."

 

The figure hummed, he could practically hear them nodding. He would see them too if his eyes weren't starting to cloud.

 

"I can still win." he gritted out.

 

The heels clack away for a minute, then here is the sound of vibranium scraping against frozen concrete. Just a nudge of a booted toe against the shield.

 

"I see…" the voice said, softer and more sympathetic than he usually knew it to be. "But what is there left to win?"

 

Tony froze, well, not literally, but his mind jolted to a complete stop. He wracked his brain for an answer. One that wasn't a lie or an excuse. He sort of owed it to them. He definitely owed that to himself.

 

He tasted blood on his tongue, felt his throat gurgle and his lungs bubble. He couldn't feel his fingers and he'd stopped being able to feel below his waist some time ago.

 

He opened his mouth a couple of times, a reason at the tip of his blood slick tongue but he always shut it again; staring sightlessly at the bunker's drab ceiling. Finally, he let out a deep, wheezing and defeated breath. "Fuuuuuuuck"

 

The clack clack of heels came closer, stopping a few feet away.

 

"Firestar? Are you all right down there? Any life changing epiphanies i should be aware of?" The voice was a tad dripping in smug and Tony snarled a few curse words of a long forgotten and eternally cursed language.

 

"Don't you start." he hissed, "I'm already pissed enough as it is. I don't need your logic clouding my irrational anger."

 

The voice giggled. It sounded like a young child's laugh and echoed unnaturally long through the cold, dark corridors. "I haven't said anything, dearest."

 

Tony huffed, reaching down inside himself and feeling around for the small, smoldering ember he'd buried deep within when he'd started this whole thing. There it was, nestled snugly and glowing red. He fanned the flames, feeding it and watching it grow and grow until delicious heat flickered like butterflies along his nerves, his veins, his arteries.

 

Red lightning skipped along, under his skin like a quickening; chasing away the burning cold. Feeling came back into his extremities with an attitude, gnawing on his hands and feet for an age and a half before flooding them with sweet, sublime heat.

 

Fuck, he'd forgotten how cold the world was.

 

The fire in his belly grew, grew until it sputtered and sparked until it erupted in the centre of his chest. He let his head fall back, let his arms and legs sprawl as the flames melted his clothes and turned the metal in casing him white hot.

 

He let his eyes fall closed, his mind releasing; letting the geas he'd placed on it so long ago burn and fall away to ash. He breathed in, filling his lungs with fire and brimstone, exhaling smoke through his nose like a dragon. Fire burned behind his eyes and he opened them, the flames sparking and catching in the icy air.

 

The heap of gold titanium alloy sloughed off his body, white hot and pooling below him in a great cloud of steam. There was lava in his bones, liquid and alive and swirling like ocean currents from his hair follicles to his toe nails.

 

The suit's arc reactor sparked to life, briefly, before cracking open and igniting. There was a flash of  blinding light and a muffled 'foom' before the heat of the fire quickly swallowed the element held within.

 

Tony burned and burned, inside and out until he was nothing but heat and flame and hunger. Soon enough what was left of his suit was gone and he reached out blindly, crawling his way across the cracking, scorched and melting concrete.

 

Finally he struck upon vibranium, the cool metal soon turning hot as he pulled it closer. He was so hungry, his fire ravenous after so many years subdued. Soon enough the shield was gone completely and metal fingers were brushing his. Barnes' arm burned beautifully, the delicate circuitry inside snapping and melting  deliciously, the metal panels curling inward prettily before being consumed.

 

Finally sated, Tony leaned back and sighed, burping a blast of blue flame as he thumped his chest.

 

"Fuck that was good." his mouth fell into a slow and easy grin.

 

'You always did love a good meal." the voice echoed through the bunker. The figure stepped out of the shadow of one of the huge curved columns, adjusting their fur as they approached.

 

"Yeah well… " Tony shrugged lazily from his sprawl along the blistered concrete. "That's what happens when you all but starve yourself for almost half a century"

 

Rolling his shoulders deeply, he sprung to his feet; all but giddy that all of the pains and heavy scars he'd been carrying for years seemed burned away. His chest was smooth, his muscles thrummed with renewed energy.

 

He rolled his neck with a moan, cracking his spine as he ran his fingers through his hair. It seemed thicker now and he was sure that the next time he looked in a mirror, he'd see all the grey gone; all the lines etched into his face by years of hard living and trauma smoothed out.

 

"There you are" the other being smiled and stepped closer. "I've missed you terribly, you know." They pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, cool lips against the heat of his skin. "Game night hasn't been the same without you."

 

Tony smirked, giving a wink as he did a full body stretch. "You miss cheating me out of my hard earned coin, you mean."

 

Crimson lips parted in a laugh. "The day your coin is hard earned is the day I stop cheating you out of it."

 

Tony huffed but conceded the point. Most of his coin used to come from rather nefarious sources.

 

He walked to the bunker's entrance, looking out unto the cold tundra beyond. The wind didn't affect him now, battering harmlessly against his heated skin. The Siberian landscape looked beautiful now that he'd taken the time to really look at it. The flight over and subsequent fight for his life had taken up most of his attention. Now that he had a quiet moment, he could appreciate the harsh and beautiful loneliness of the terrain. An arm slipped through his and tucked into his elbow. A fur covered shoulder brushed against his bare one.

 

"So, my Flame… ?" a gloved hand caressed his forearm gently." What will you do now?"

 

Tony thought for a moment, turning the idea of just leaving it all behind over and over in his head. He could do that. That was an option.

 

But then he thought about all he'd left behind. Things left undone, people left without goodbye. Problems life unresolved. Anthony Edward Stark may have been a construct, born of a wager in the dark corner of a poker game but he'd lived this life long enough to feel somewhat sentimental about it. 

 

Besides, now that he'd forfeited the wager, there were things he could do that he wasn't allowed to before. Plays he could make, rules he could bend and twist and break to his little black heart's content. And oh how he was looking forward to making things bend and twist and break. He grinned, wide and wicked, turning towards the figure as his side and bent down to press a kiss to their cold cheek.

 

"Don't worry, I'll still be at the next poker night. I just have some things I need to take care of. Or rather… Tony Stark still had things he needs to take care of."

 

He blew unto his outstretched hand, a small flame pooling in his palm. The flame coalesced into a form made entirely of fire, an adorable little arctic fox that mimed yipping as it turned in a happy little circle. It made no sound but for the crackling of the flame. With a smile, he bent over, letting the small construct leap unto the concrete, leaving little scorched paw prints as It gamboled around.

 

"Go. Feast." he instructed, watching fondly as it rubbed against his knuckles before disappearing into the shadows. It would burn everything in the bunker, growing bigger and consuming more and more until there would be nothing left but ash.

 

Soon enough there would be nothing left of the Hydra Base for anyone to find. Just the way Tony wanted it.

 

He had a whole new outlook on life now. A whole new attitude. A ' _burn everything to ash and salt the earth afterwards_ ' kind of attitude. And he knew exactly just who needed to benefit from said attitude. So they thought he was the villain, eh? The bad guy. They thought he was the source of all their woes. The reason for everything gone wrong in their lives. They so liked to whine and cry about #tonystarkistheactualdevil.

 

Heh. Turns out they were mostly right. It wasn't that Tony Stark Was **The** Actual Devil. It was more like Tony Stark Was **An** Actual Devil.

 

But fuck it. Semantics. It didn't really matter. They would find that out soon enough.

 

\---------------------------------------------

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The first thing he did was to see to his Rhodey, making sure that the still unconscious man was seen by the best doctors his vast wealth to source. He would receive the best help Tony's money could buy… that and a little nudge of warmth to his spine to boost his healing.

 

After that he made time to see to Vision, his grandson for all intents and purposes. What was left of JARVIS still lived on in the Android and if Tony had learned anything in his brief mortal coil, it was that he needed to take special care of the things he loved.

 

Like a dragon of old, he needed to gather those he treasured gently to him before fate sought to snatch them away. He even video called Pepper and Happy, warmed through to see them settled and happy with each other, the sunny California sun washing away the sadness and worry they'd felt at recent events.

 

He dove into FRIDAY's code, giving his baby girl everything he'd kept from her due to his dear of another ULTRON. He freed her, released her from her fetters and set her loose on the world like he'd done for JARVIS. And oh how his girl flew, adapting to every new freedom, every new protocol like the clever mind she was.

 

Satisfied that he'd gathered all his little doves to him, he turned his attention to the Accords Council and the UN. He spoke passionately, he championed, he bargained, he negotiated. He whispered in ears, secretly financed campaigns, paid for expensive business dinners, for luxurious fact finding trips, for quality hookers of all shapes, sizes and tastes.

 

Who he couldn't woo he blackmailed, threatened, intimidated and menaced.  He gathered and traded secrets, he bought out debts, he complied secret footage and hacked secret encrypted files and off shore bank accounts. He built a complex network of favours, spreading across the world like an intricate spider's web that would make Black Widow eat her own knives with envy.

 

He nudged, pushing and pulling here and there, just a little bit at a time until enough people came around to his way of thinking. Until they all but volunteered to be led around by the nose as long as the hook was made of 24 karat gold and studded with diamonds.

 

He smiled at the world, sharp and wide; the ever ravenous hunger in his flaming eyes bright behind dark glasses. He showed his 'remorse' to the world, let his shoulders slump under the weight of reparations for all the damage left in the wake of the Avengers. Made himself humble and cowed before the people, raw repentance in the hitch in his voice, each moment of carefully orchestrated vulnerability endearing himself to a divided audience.

 

He sang and danced like a puppet for the press, for the UN, for the governments of the world, all razzle dazzle distraction while wrapping them ever so slowly in his barbed wire strings. Soon enough, like a snake charmer, he had even the most powerful swaying to his tune; fangs bared and ready to move at his say so.

 

And when he had them firmly in his pocket, he set his sights on Thaddeus Ross.

 

Ross had been getting a bit too comfortable in his place as Secretary of Defense and US Liaison to the Accords Council. Drunk on power and always hungry for more, Ross had bullied and blackmailed his way uncontested to where he was, leaving so many enemies in his wake that Tony hadn't really needed to do anything against the man. Powerful enemies who moved and talked behind closed doors. In the end, it was Ross himself who provided more than enough rope to hang himself several times over.

 

Once he'd gathered enough information, Tony started to make his move. A secret meeting here, an anonymous tip to the press there. In less than a week there'd been a Senate Hearing being planned, several investigations being started by the FBI, Homeland Security , the FFC and a bunch of other alphabet soup agencies.

 

He'd arranged for Ross to be blindsided at a routine press conference by a smirking Christine Everhart. Ross' casual condescension of women in general shattered to bits by the relentless hammer of her ruthless and precision drill questioning. The old man managed to rally somewhat by the end of the session but the damage had already been done.

 

There was blood in the water now and the sharks were starting to circle.

 

The day the indictments came down Tony was enjoying a late breakfast in Malibu after a night of deep science and engineering with his Sugar Bear. He smirked into the freshly squeezed orange juice Rhodey had handed him with one of those looks that said _"Drink this healthy thing or else"._

 

His Rhodey Bean had been awesome with his recovery, flying through his physical therapy and was almost back to how he was pre-German airport. Soon enough he would be reporting for duty as War Machine once again (Tony had managed to sweet talk the President into switching the name back) so Tony had flown them out to California for a bit of Rest and Relaxation with Pepper and Happy.

 

As the perky morning news anchor broke down the charges on screen, Tony hummed around his blueberry pancakes as Pepper passed Happy the non-fat butter. Vision was at the kitchen counter, practicing his knife work by slicing fruit into intricate patterns for a salad; looking as serene as ever as he listened to the television.

 

Soon enough Rhodey and Pepper got into a lively discussion about what Ross had in store for him with Happy piping in with an off-hand comment here and there. Tony just smiled around the rim of his glass, his heart warm with love for this small circle of people he called his own.

 

Ross' face the day the sentence came down was beyond priceless. Friday, her wicked sense of humour showing more and more every day, had recorded the footage of his face going as white as his hair at the judgment. Digital surround sound perfectly relayed the man's horrified wails as they slapped him in chains and dragged him out of the courtroom doors.

 

Tony thought the irons were a particularly nuanced touch and was glad he'd planted the idea in the Judge's mind while they played a round of golf the month before at ten thousand dollars a hole. Worst round of golf he'd played in his life.

 

Sometimes, when he and FRIDAY both wanted a good laugh, she would loop the video in the workshop. Life in Leavenworth for treason, amongst a myriad of other charges of course. They would be throwing their good old boy Thaddeus in a deep dank hole forever and throwing away the key.

 

Perfectly suited to a bottom dweller like Ross.

 

He tipped his glass in a silent salute from his long lost science bro.

 

_This one is for you Brucie Bear. Where ever you are._

 

With Ross out of the picture and the US government in his back pocket, he turned his wayward ex-teammates. His first night back on US soil he'd made a list and checked it twice. All the people who earned themselves his special attention through their words and deeds. People who'd looked at Tony Stark and had seen a patsy, a sugar daddy and a doormat. Those who'd lined up to shovel shit on his head until it threatened to bury him alive.

 

And there'd been a lot of names on his naughty list. A lot of people who deserved what was coming to them. They'd called him arrogant, offensive, selfish, corrupt, conniving and rotten to the core. A liar, a cheat and a hypocrite. A vain dandy with more money than sense. A 'poor little rich boy' with a fragile ego. A larger than life villain they could pin every problem on. Someone to throw his unending heaps of money to smooth out every rough road that lay ahead.

 

They called Tony Stark the bad guy. But in fact Tony Stark hadn't been that bad guy. He'd been a man who'd been trying to do his best with the hand he'd been dealt.

 

But that was all over now. The final hand had been dealt. The last of the chips cleared. The ultimate wager lost. The man once known as Tony Stark had bent and bent and bent under the weight of the world until he'd finally broken into pieces in a cold Siberian bunker.

 

The man known as Tony Stark died in that frozen wasteland. What remained wasn't that man anymore. What was left of Tony Stark's shattered heart of gold had burned away to nothing in the ever ravenous flames his all-consuming rage. What stepped from the ashes was a whole different animal altogether. With a heart of inferno and brimstone in his lungs. With an anger that simmered in in the forge of his gut and seared his veins. With eyes of flame that would watch the world burn and just laugh and laugh.

 

So yeah… they wanted a bad guy?

 

Well… He'd give them one they won't soon forget.

 

\----------------------------------------------

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Cracking Wakanda's technology was a fun challenge, the very foundations of the tech were so different from anything Tony knew of and swimming in those new waters was a true novelty for him.

 

He'd even coded a prototype-AI called SCOUT based on what he'd learned from the secret nation's data banks. SCOUT was a slippery little thing, quick and playful as it tunneled through decades of Wakandan information. It learned, devouring Wakandan codes relentlessly and every day grew more complex and sophisticated before his very eyes.

 

Soon enough, SCOUT claimed the feminine pronoun and became FRIDAY's sister of sorts. She was smart as a whip, unashamedly ruthless, oh so clever and loyal to Tony beyond what others would call healthy and Tony loved her back with all of his coal black soul. With FRIDAY's patient guidance, SCOUT was quickly able to data mine enough of the information Tony needed to bring his first set of plans to fruition.

 

He'd known King T'Chaka briefly, meeting him in person for the first time during the first UN Council Meetings on the Accords. He'd been a stern man but there'd been an undercurrent of kindness in him. He hadn't looked at Tony and only seen Howard. He hadn't looked at him as the Merchant of Death. Or the Creator of ULTRON.

 

He'd given Tony the respect he'd earned through his hard work and sincere actions. And for that, Tony had been touched and truly grateful. He'd made Tony curious about Wakanda as a whole and as such, Tony was reluctant to do too much irreparable  damage to the nation now trying to take its rightful place in the world stage.

 

T'Challa on the other hand, well, he'd made his own decisions. Thought only for himself when he made choices. And he alone would be the one to bear the consequences of those choices.

 

Beloved King. Loyal Servant to his People. Black Panther.

 

All these titles the man wrapped around his shoulders with pride, the torc of power resting comfortably on his young head. He'd fought for his place, survived civil rebellion and returned to the throne triumphant. He was the darling of the Accords and the opening trade market, newly affianced and riding the wave of his success.

 

That wouldn't last.

 

Tony started with a word here or there. Sometimes a sheepishly guided question after an Accords meeting while he was glad handing and making nice with the Councilors. An almost absent-minded comment at a 'business' dinner'. A brief conversation in the halls of power. A carefully crafted slip up to a hungry journalist while being ushered to his car.

 

Little by little he chipped away at T'Challa's reputation. Look at how young he was. How inexperienced he'd seemed when he stepped up to take the throne. How unpredictable he seemed compared to the reputation his father had tried to build. How unstable that made the ultra-secretive country's fledgling overtures unto the world of trade and business.

 

The interest Wakanda had been steadily cultivating in its trade fell away abruptly, investors souring as opinion turned. All of a sudden, the many restrictions the advanced nation placed on what they were willing to trade went from being seen as cautious to been perceived as selfish.

 

Wakanda seemed like that one kid at the sand box who wouldn't share his toys and any efforts to counteract the tide of discontent was then compared to a child throwing a tantrum. Tony chuckled to himself at the analogy, watching through his darkened shades as the young king struggled to keep his temper during meeting after meeting.

 

Now that he'd weakened T'Challa's standing amongst fellow world leaders enough, it was time to shake the tree a little and see what else fell out. A few more words passed along with earnest curiosity.  A soft show of contrition. An absent question tagged at the end of a presentation. A odd but short tangent during a morning show interview.

 

Soon enough there were murmurs in dark corners. Secret conversations  behind closed doors and over secured lines. Now  that the dust had cleared. Now that things were getting settled and being rebuilt. Now that the people were calming, starting to trust in their heroes once again. Now that the world was starting to get on with their lives…

 

Where were the Rogue Avengers?

 

It was as if the world were a puppy who'd heard the clink of the dinner bowl. The planet was up and alert. Curious and demanding, it wanted answers and it wanted them now.

 

That's where SCOUT came through, his darling little sneak. Clips of videos of the rogues living it up in the African jungle hit social media like an atomic bomb. Curated expertly by his newest AI and made to seem like it was put together and sent by a disgruntled Wakandan.

 

Like clockwork the clips went viral and broke the internet.

 

Seeing international criminals living and laughing in the lap of luxury was like flipping a lit match into a pool of gasoline. The uproar was deafening and was like such sweet music to Tony's ears. People whose loved ones lay sick in hospitals or dead in their graves cried out for justice, for amends. For vengance.

 

Riots broke out at Wakandan embassies and along the country's borders. Luckily Iron Man and the New Avengers were quick to help get the trapped Wakandans to safety. The first few days of chaos wracked up so much political and social currency for the new team that Tony'd had to lock himself in his workshop and laugh himself sick.

 

Soon enough SCOUT was reporting on unrest within the secretive nation itself. The Panther King tried to rally, sending out press releases and videos that only seemed to enrage the world further. Finally the young monarch appeared before the Accords committee, standing chin up back straight like he hadn't been summoned like a naughty child.

 

Tony sat in the upper ramparts and watched, satisfied that the secret meetings he'd been having all week would see his agenda followed to the T. It was a shit show, pure and simple and he loved every minute of it. T'Challa may have been a genius in his own right, with power at his fingertips and a nation that stood strong at his back but Tony had been a political animal from the day he'd been born breech and he knew exactly how to play this game. He knew how to win it.

 

In the end, the once proud King walked away from the last meeting, his once proud head bowed with the heavy weight of his crown. He may have walked away a king that day but anyone with eyes to see and two brain cells to rub together could see what was coming. T'Challa was in for some hard times. SCOUT was gleeful in her reporting, a truly viscous little thing as she immersed herself into Wakandan systems with ease. A week before anyone else in the world knew, Tony found himself watching the footage of Princess Shuri becoming the new Queen.

 

T'Challa still held the mantle of Black Panther but, to Tony's eternal delight, he was on 'probation'. Frankly, Tony felt that the former King's fiancé Nakia should have been given the role altogether, relegating the humbled prince to mere Royal Councilor. He made sure to mention that to SCOUT, confident that she would handle the rest.

 

One of Queen Shuri's first roles as monarch was to drop kick the Rogues out of her country for the good of her people. With a freshly thawed Barnes in tow, she tossed them all unto a plane and dropped them over the border. She had too much work to do trying to repair her country's good name to care about some troublesome colonizers. Let them be someone else's problem.

 

He knew that he liked her for a reason. She was a gem.  Sharp as a tack with a hefty dose of common sense. One of these days, when her leadership was on more of an even keel, he'd have SI reach out to her.

 

They'd be one of the first major companies to do so and would most assuredly benefit from having a heavy advantage at the bargaining table. And when his actions led to other, more cautious investors finally coming back; he may just even come out with a country sitting on a mountain of vibranium in his debt.

 

And now that all of the little ants had been shaken out of their little ant hill, he could crush them one by one.

 

Lang was first. He was easy, small potatoes. One heartfelt plea over the internet from his daughter for her daddy to come home, tear tracks still drying on her face, was enough to bring the man running back to the US. Being the first Rogue to return meant he would be made an example of. At least, that was the opinion Tony shared over drinks at the Gentlemen's Club.

 

Lang got the book thrown at him by the US Government, being a parolee and repeat offender. The court of Public opinion had him being raked him over the coals for being a dead beat dad, social media crucifying him for his part in the destruction of a German airport. Pym Industries tried to come to his defense and, soon enough, got pulled into long and nasty civil suits over the use of their patented technology during the disaster in Germany.

 

Hope Pym tried to pull them through the other side intact but Hank Pym's blunt manner and even blunter tongue was enough to piss of half the world even further. The company took hit after hit, unlucky with the courts and on the stock market until it was on its last shaky and crumbling legs.

 

That was when Tony sent in Pepper to mop things up. Hank was apoplectic but Hope knew which way the wind was blowing. Stark industries quietly took over Pym labs and their proprietary tech. Hank raged and ranted but in the end he'd retired a bitter and withered old man. Hope went on to become the Wasp, one of the New Avengers. Lang was just grateful that he was languishing in an American prison and not a German one.

 

That contentment didn't last long when he heard that his ex-wife had filed for and been granted severance of all visitation rights with his daughter. Maggie got a new job as one of Stark Industries shell Companies while her husband Jim got promoted to a precinct halfway across the country from where Lang had been sentenced.

 

Next up was Wilson. Another small fry but this one had been a true believer. He'd bought into the Captain America Legend hook, line and sinker; his head so far up Steve's ass he stick out his tongue and taste pancreas.

 

It was a pleasure shattering that loyalty, bit by bit. Corrupting it. He started with Wilson's life back home. He lost his army benefits, his pension, his job at the VA. He was stripped of his rank and dishonorably discharged.

 

Files data mined from the SHIELDRA dump brought into question some of the conduct of Sam's old unit. An intrepid young reporter, hungry for advancement stumbled across the files and wrote a scathing story about the former Avenger. The Military started its own investigation soon after which resulted in all of the squadron being stripped of their medals. Even posthumously, which was the case for Wilson's old team mate Riley.

 

The German government filed suit against him in absentia and won, his assets seized and sold off to pay reparations. His mother and sisters lost their house, their life savings. Their wages were garnished and their cars repossessed.

 

Talking heads across the country tore apart the days counting down to what was named the Civil War, commenting heavily about how Tony Stark had tried to square away the Rogues' actions and make their actions legal but that the offer had been spit on by the entire Rogue team.

 

That the whole 'war' could have ended before it had even begun.

 

Then, just as Wilson was almost blind with rage, Tony released the footage from the Siberian bunker. Seeing his commanding officer, his hero;  beat a man suffering from raging PTSD half to death then leaving him behind to die.

 

A man, suffering from the shock of discovering that he'd been lied to and betrayed for years by someone he should have been able to trust.  In Tony Stark, Wilson had seen just another fellow soldier thrown aside and abandoned by his leader, left to die alone like Riley had been. That had been the straw that broke the camel's back.

 

That very night Wilson broke his hand punching Captain America in the face, turning himself in at the nearest police station with his hand in a sling. He made a deal with the German government to serve his time there if they left his family alone, pleading guilty and getting a twenty years sentence

 

The US government had been all too happy to agree, grateful for one problem they wouldn't have to deal with. Pepper quickly released a statement to the press that SI, at Tony Stark's personal request, would not be pressing charges against Wilson for stealing the falcon rig for the sake of his beleaguered family.

 

The outpouring of compassion after the release of the video doubled almost overnight as SI's stock rose by a whopping fifty points. Tony himself made a point to speak about the misfortune of the Wilson family on Ellen and a several GoFundMe pages popped up overnight to help them.

 

Romanov was picked up trying to sneak into Madripor, hair buzzed short and bleached blonde. Apparently she'd decided to make a go of it alone. Not too wise for someone who'd burned most of her aliases in the infamous SHIELDRA data dump. Luckily the Madripor police force was stupidly easy to bribe and by the end of business day Romanov was in the custody of former SHIELD agents, now going by SWORD, who'd come to work for SI after the great fall.

 

Sedated and secured, Romanov was transported by cargo plane to an airport just outside of Volograd, Russia. It seemed a group called the North Institute was very interested in getting their hands on a Black Widow. Apparently Natashalie was one of the last generation of trained female assassins to be treated with chemical enhancements designed by the late Dr. Lyudmila Kudrin.

 

Unfortunately, Dr. Kudrin's work was also lost in their passing and that left  only one avenue left for anyone seeking to recreate the serum. Considering how hard it was to source a live Black Widow, it made sense how determined they were to get their hands on one.

 

And Tony was only too happy to facilitate. After drawing a few pints of blood and several deep tissue sample of course. It's not like she wouldn't have the opportunity to replenish it under the tender care of her new captors. Tony liked to think of it as an investment in the future. Putting away a little DNA for a rainy day. One never new when something like that could come in handy.

 

So off she went to her new home, after a few cut tendons here and there to clip her wings. In return, SI received several metric tonne of rare organic chemicals like acyclic hydrocarbons, several worth their weight in gold and essential to the delicate circuitry of several Stark devices. Considering the tight restrictions Russia kept on the stuff, Tony was actually making out like a bandit on the deal.

 

According to his security team, Romanov had awoken just as she was being handed over and a string of Russian curse words were they last they heard of her. Tony had chuckled over his morning coffee, not bothering to even view the body cam footage. He was so over it by now. He wished her well in her future endeavors. Then it was all 'not my circus, not my monkeys' and he never gave thought of her again.

 

Barton… well Barton was a special case. While they'd still been a team, Tony had almost come to think of Barton as a friend and it had really hurt to see the man turn against him so easily. He'd come to think of the archer as a bratty little brother. A little fucked up, a little broken. A fellow baseline human in a team of super humans and demi gods.

 

Finding out the man had a secret family had thrown him for a loop but he wasn't one to judge others for keeping things to themselves.  Seeing the man curl a wing around Maximoff, overly protective of the former Hydra operative while turning his back on both Tony and Bruce had burned like boiling oil in Tony's throat.

 

But what had hurt the most, had burnt the very last bridge for Tony was the vitriol that had spilled from the cruel turn of his lips about Rhodey's fall. Mocking his injury and turning it all back unto Tony's fearful heart like acid. That had been in that moment that Barton lost all footing in Tony's eyes and sowed the first seeds of true hate in his heart.

 

He wasn't going to touch Barton physically, no blade to the tendons like Romanov. No prison sentence like Lang or Wilson. No. That was too easy, too merciful. The way to Barton's soft underbelly was through what he'd taken for granted for so many years.

 

On a bright and sunny morning, the bank foreclosed on the Barton Farm, their debt bought up by an anonymous third party. Their savings, already mostly gone, were seized. Barton's secret nest egg, scattered among several offshore accounts went belly up, drained until mere pennies remained.

His SHIELD pension had shriveled up and died with the great fall and the new iteration of the shadow agency under Zombie Agent was too skint broke to do anything about it.

 

Broke, alone and desperate with three young kids to take care of, Laura Barton paced the floor of a shitty motel room she'd managed to rent for the next two days. Haggard with stress and helpless rage, she hadn't been able to get through to any of the emergency numbers Clint had left behind.

 

And there, in the cramped and dirty motel room, her children hurt and upset and all of her life lines exhausted, Laura Barton sat down and broke. It was in that moment when Sharon Carter knocked on her door.

 

Carter, only out of jail and walking free because of Tony's personal intersession with the courts and impassioned plea on behalf of his godmother's legacy, was now contracted to another of SI's shell companies. Essentially a slave to her contract, the next fifteen years of her life was Tony's to rule. Considering those fifteen years could have been served in Leavenworth right next to Ross, she'd been all too happy to sign on the dotted line.

 

Laura Barton had looked at her children, hungry and crying in the filthy motel room and hadn't even paused, packing what was left of her life into Sharon's black SUV. Within days divorce and custody papers were being filed in absentia, flying through family courts so fast that they were sure to give paper cuts to anyone who tried to handle them.

 

The media soon caught wind of the story and the world, hungry for any drama involving the Rogues, took it and ran with it. Laura, trying to avoid the frenzy of paparazzi that was sure to come, gave a few impassioned and emotional interviews. There was even a tear jerking live interview, a coup for Anderson Cooper, filmed at a secret safe house location.

 

Gathering an angry Cooper, an inconsolable Lila and a fussy Nathaniel to her, a strong yet vulnerable Laura talked to the world about what it meant to live in the shadow of heroes. One helpless tear trickled from the corner of her eye near the end of filming and the world cried with her. Barton was soon vilified as a worse dead beat dad than Lang and Hawkeye merchandise was soon being burned in effigy.

 

Barton, livid that the life he'd imagined waiting for him at home, stuck in some kind of time warp or something; tried to sneak back into the US on a cargo plane. Half frozen and cramped from hiding in the wheel well and running of fumes and righteous anger; he dragged his sorry ass to Stark Tower and was taken down hilariously easy by a freckle faced security guard with a Taser on his first day on the job.

 

Tony, who'd been tracking Barton's journey secretly, ready to have Carter evacuate the former Bartons at the first sign of them being in danger, had been confused yet somehow unsurprised at the Archer's actions. Instead of trying to find his family in one last bid to reconcile with his estranged wife and abandoned children, Barton had come to Stark Tower seeking vengeance.

 

Of course he believed that Tony was to blame. So sadly typical.

 

And well… this time Tony actually was to blame but that didn't make Barton any less sad… or his behaviour any less typical.

 

Being the upstanding citizen and super hero he was, Tony promptly handed Barton over to the proper authorities. After repossessing his gear as Stark proprietary tech of course. Watching the US government, the German government and the Accords play hot potato with the Avenger's only other baseline human had been entertaining as all get out.

 

FRIDAY would edit together particularly funny and entertaining clips of various politicians and leaders basically saying 'Not It' over the Archer and Tony would watch from his workshop couch with a bowl of pepper sweet popcorn and a six pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade.

 

Unlike the cases with Lang and Wilson, German government was unwilling to punish Barton's wife and kids for his dumbass shenanigans. The fact that he hadn't been involved with any other of the more serious of the Rogues' crimes, meant that the US government and the Accords Council were also reluctant to take on the case.

 

That left Stark industries as the only other party with any interest in the Archer. Barton had aided in Maximoff's escape, using proprietary knowledge entrusted to him by Tony himself to shut down FRIDAY at the compound and stood by as the red bitch put the Vision through several sets of concrete floors.

 

Pepper was all for suing the fuck out of the man and stringing him up by his balls but Tony was able talk her down from that ledge. He had something else in mind for the sharpshooter.

 

Barton didn't have money. He didn't have information Tony could use. He didn't have special blood or DNA to harvest nor did he have a family anymore to hold over his head. No, all Hawkeye had was his freedom and his skill and Tony knew just what he wanted to do with them both.

 

Pepper stepped into the detention centre where Hawkeye was being held and laid her offer on the table, one time only and non-negotiable. Exile. Plain and simple. Barton would leave the continental United States and never set foot back in the country or her territories ever again. No charges, no prison time. Just leave and never come back.

 

Of course SI didn't trust blindly, not anymore. They wouldn't rely on Barton to keep the agreement out of the goodness of his heart so he would be injected with a set of sub-dermal tracking chips , monitored by Friday herself. Passively of course.

 

Unsurprisingly, Barton railed violently against the deal only capitulating after a private  'come to Jesus' meeting with his public defender, Matt Murdock. The archer was on the next flight out, smiling smugly as he boarded the plane; most likely already planning to meet up with the remaining Rogues.

 

Too bad he never made it back to them.

 

A familiar face was waiting when he landed at the small and secluded airport. Barney Barton grinned as his little brother stumbled back at the sight of him. The members of the SWORD team escorting him shoved him forward, deaf to his protests as he tried to step back unto the plane.

 

Barney laughed, holding up a small remote and pressing the button. Barton went down with a cry, his sub-dermal implants paralyzing him with the same technology that Stane had once used on Tony. The SWORD team member closest to the former agent made a disgusted face and stepped back, shifting his boots away from Barton's clawed and reaching fingers.

 

The small remote had several settings. A prototype of advanced prisoner control, the implants were equipped with several methods of violence suppression, far more advanced that the passive tracking tech that Barton had thought. That taught him to not read the fucking fine print.

 

In the dark of his living room, shwarma take out box in hand, Tony watched on the live stream from the SWORD body cams as Barney Barton tossed his brother like a sack of potatoes into the back of his jeep, slamming the door before tossing them a jaunty salute and disappearing into the night.

 

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After wetting his appetite on most of the Rogues, he was ready to take on bigger prey.

 

Wearing another man's face, he walked the rain soaked streets of eastern Europe and there, on a lonely, shadowed stoop, he found Wanda Maximoff. Shivering like a stray, sodden and bedraggled kitten, her long brown hair looked almost black plastered to her skull; Her large brown eyes luminous in the harsh light of a passing car.

 

She stumbled towards him, reaching out weakly as she mumbled something softly. He let her draw hear, mildly curious as what kind of game she was playing. He could see her magic pulsing through her veins, crooked lines of glowing red crisscrossing her skin.

 

She stumbled the last few steps, collapsing unto his chest. Grasping at his thick coat with pale and trembling hands; she gazed up at him imploringly. He braced her arms, making a good show of being a concerned Samaritan, taking her weight as she let her knees go weak.

 

As he staggered under the sudden shift, she raised her arms and slapped her hands to his temple. At least she tried to. She gasped loudly as he grabbed her wrists, trying and failing to tug them out of the iron like hold. He could see the sparks of red dancing along her fingertips and tightened his hold until he could hear the bones in her delicate wrists creak.

 

She gave a cry and squirmed away, twisting her body this way and that as she tried once again to free her trapped hands. She let her knees give out, hoping that the sudden dead weight would make him let go but it only left her hanging from his tight grip. She tried to kick out, aiming for his kneecaps with her booted heels but he only chuckled, twisting out of the way.

 

With a wide and wicked grin he yanked her upright, almost pulling her off the ground. She came up with an enraged shriek, her hands formed into claws as she tried to scratch at him. He gave her a rough shake, nodding in satisfaction when she stopped fighting and glared at him with glinting red eyes. He let his own eyes spark and flame, laughing loudly when she gasped and froze.

 

"Rogers turn you out already, Little witch?" he sneered, giving her a slow look over, "… has you walking the streets night after night for unsuspecting businessmen? Be the helpless little waif, get close to them and then fuck with their heads? What do you do… take their money and leave them dazed and wandering? Do you make them give you their bank cards? Do you pluck the pin numbers from their heads?"

 

He let his false face fade away, the flame in his eyes burning like the very pits of hell. She stumbled back, or tried too; her wrists still trapped in his grip. His name fell like a curse word from her lips, her face contorting between hatred and fear. His smile widened and he pulled her closer and closer until they were glowing yellow eye to glowing red.

 

"First Hydra's little whore and now Rogers' …" his smile was as sharp as a blade, "For all your previous talk of not being told what to do, you sure do like to have a man call the shots huh? First your brother, Strucker, ULTRON, Barton and now Captain America."

 

He tilted his head as if in deep thought. "I'm sensing a pattern here. You find a man stronger than you, someone to protect you and you tuck yourself up under them until you find someone stronger or until they die and then you look for a new one."

 

Curse words spilled from her lips like pebbles as she tried to raise her magic against him. He tightened his hands, not stopping until he heard the breaking of bones. Maximoff screamed raggedly, body curling around the pain.

 

 "Your parlour tricks won't work on me anymore witch…" he growled, twisting her fractured wrist as she wailed into the deserted rainy street. "And there won't be anyone coming to save you either. Not tonight. Not anymore."

 

Fire skimmed along his skin, flowing from the blazing forge in his chest, leaping up his arms and through his palms. Maximoff screamed shrilly, the smell of burning flesh was strong even in the steady rain. She fell to the ground, released from his scorching hold; her body curled in a fetal position as she wept. Her hands, no more than blackened claws of crackling flesh and ash white bone, where being cradled against her belly as she sobbed brokenly.

 

With her ability to draw on her magic had been dealt with, there was only the bitch herself to take care of. Two days later, in a secret auction at a secret location, a collared and sedated Wanda Maximoff, Former Hydra Operative, Former Avenger, Genetically Mutated, Powerfully Enhanced; was sold to the highest bidder.

 

Along with purchase came one complete set of restraints, proven to work efficiently at the Raft SuperMax prison. Her hands were a total loss, amputated mid forearm, but the rest of her was good looking, healthy and of child bearing age.

 

The bidding was quick and brutal, so many less than scrupulous organizations around the world wanting a piece of someone successfully enhanced by an infinity stone. At the end of the night, the auctioneer was satisfied and the witch was bundled off to her new owners.

 

In the dark of his workshop, sipping on a rare and delicious Brandy, Tony sat on his couch and watched the live stream of the event. FRIDAY had been getting better and better at getting all the great angles, editing for visual beauty and dramatic effect. He was so very proud of her progress.

 

JARVIS would have been proud too. He was sure of it.

 

With Maximoff gone from right under his nose, it didn't take Rogers to be flushed out of his hidey hole. With the loss of almost all of his allies save one, he was a desperate man; reacting to every obstacle before him without thinking, without planning. Everything he'd clung too so tightly, all the tender connections to the past he'd mourned, all of the ones he'd tried to build in this time; they were all being pulled away one by one.

 

All he had left now was Barnes. His best friend and brother from another mother. Returned to him from the dead to fight by his side once again. The man he'd sacrificed to much for, the man he'd fought the world for. The man for which he'd fight every battle, go through every obstacle. Including one Tony Stark. And now he was looking for another battle, ready to solve another problem with his fists.

 

And one Tony Stark was ready for him.

 

On a late Sunday afternoon, Steve Rogers formerly known as Captain America and James Buchanan Barnes formerly known as the Winter Soldier, was caught and arrested trying to cross the border into Uzbekistan. He'd been hot on the trail of Wanda's disappearance, pressing hard on what was left of Romanov's information network. He'd been clumsy and heavy handed, either trusting the information too much or not enough.

 

His paranoia had grown with his desperation, making him doubt everyone except the man at his side. The latest rumour had put Maximoff in the hands of Hydra, Rogers' old nemesis. Wild stories about a man with a red skull had been surfacing from too many sources not to have some grain of truth to them… right?

 

Anger made Rogers desperate. Desperation made him sloppy. That in turn made it more than easy for the Accords Task Force to scoop both men up. Without his Shield and Barnes without an arm, the two super soldiers didn't put up much more than an initial fight before surrendering.

 

The footage of captain America in chains, stepping from the plane became the most shared image in the world. In his battered and dusty gear, his overgrown beard and uncut hair, the dark circles under his eyes; Rogers looked like a true international fugitive. With the hard and ruthless glint in his blue eyes speckled with green and the stern downturn on his mouth, Rogers looked like a man caged. A man with little left to lose.

 

What followed was fantastical the three ring circus Tony always imagined it to be. Everyone wanted a piece of the fallen hero. The Accords, now more than one hundred and twenty countries strong, their heads of state, the media, the man on the street…. All of them had something to say, all of them screaming to be heard above the rest.

 

All of the angry, clawing masses who took to the streets and information super highways, whipping up such a frenzy that those in power felt a shiver down their spines. With Pepper on one side, Rhodey on his other and Happy at his back, the New Avengers lining up behind them; Tony took to the world stage and put on the his best show.

 

And oh how they loved him…. Oh how the world loved him.

 

And as much as they loved him…. So they hated Rogers.

 

The trial was a farce, a witch hunt. Rogers took the stand, talking until he was red in the face, trying to bring the world around to his point of view. Sadly, even the more reasonable points he'd put across were buried under the rest of bullshit he spewed.

 

In the end there was nothing he could do… nothing he could say to make the world see any different. To make them believe that he knew best, that the best hands were, in fact, his own.

 

The sentence: Life. Location: The Raft. Well, a better version of it anyway. One that Tony, through one of his shell companies, had a heavier hand in building. There would be no escaping now. No one left to come for him now.

 

Tony visited him only once, making the trip out to the prison's ultra-classified location.  A guard, geared to the teeth in new Stark body armor and Stark made suppression weaponry, escorted him to the long term containment wing, showing him to the reinforced glass cube that made up Rogers' cell.

 

He hadn't planned on coming to see the man face to face but so much of his past, so much of his mortal life had been wrapped up in the legend of Captain America. His childhood had been spent in the man's tall shadow, the last few years of his adult life had been spent locked in his orbit.

 

Steve Rogers, the boy from Brooklyn, the man out of time,  had become Integral to who Tony Stark was… as a person… as a hero himself. He'd been the measure to which Tony had always compared himself and always came up wanting. A tradition passed down from Howard.

 

He'd been a touch stone of calm and cool leadership in the non-stop whirlwind of the Avenger's lives. And even though Tony had no problem whatsoever with leaving Steve Rogers to the fate he'd planned for him, there was a part of him that still needed to see the man in the flesh one more time.

 

He'd stood in front of the glass, watching the man slumped on the single bed shoved into a corner of the room. Rogers' looked small, defeated; as he sat with his head in his hands. His hair hung lank around his face, his beard scruffy and over grown. His prison uniform hung off his frame, whether it was from being a few sizes too big or that Rogers had lost weight, Tony couldn't really tell. And he didn't really care either.

 

It took a few minutes of him standing, hands in pockets, there for the blond to look up and see Tony. Rogers gasped, eyes going wide as he jumped up and rushed to the glass. He started speaking in a rush, hands pressed against the thick glass.

 

It took him a few moments to realize that Tony couldn't hear him. He kept glancing towards the intercom installed on Tony's side of the glass , motioning and pointing with his hands.

 

As Tony  kept his silence, Rogers grew more and more angry and worked up. His mouth curling angrily as he started to punch the glass. The loud thumps muffled by the thick barrier. A couple more punches and he started to leave behind specks of blood.

 

Then, as if he'd exhausted all of his anger, the blond calmed, letting his bloodied hands fall to his sides. His face fell as Tony continued to look at him, still and silent, eyes burning bright behind his shades.

 

The blond's lips still moved, still talking even though he knew he wouldn't be heard. Tony could make out the word Bucky over and over and scoffed. Even at the end of his rope, all Rogers seemed to care about was Barnes.

 

Rogers seemed resigned, all of his initial emotion at seeing Tony had drained the longer that they stared at each other. Tony still made no move towards the comm. He wasn't interested in anything Rogers had to say anymore. The time for him hanging off of the man's every word was over and done.

 

Still, there was a part of the man who used to be Tony Stark who had wanted to see the blond one more time. To say goodbye and fare thee well in the flesh. To finally let go of a ghost who'd haunted his life for so damn long.

 

Rogers was nothing to him anymore. Steve was nothing to him. Nothing but a beautiful memory of a time gone by. A sweet memory of a time where hope had lived.

 

He turned and walked away then, hands in his pocket. His smile was sharp and wide, his eyes burning like hellfire. He could still hear Rogers pounding on the glass, no doubt calling for his return.

 

The dull thumps grew faint as he walked on, neatly side stepped the guards running past him towards Rogers' cell; but he didn't turn back to see.

 

There was nothing back there that he was interested in anymore.

 

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The Winter Soldier though. That was a different story entirely.

 

As much as he hated the man initially for killing his parents, the crux of the matter was that it was much more satisfying stealing Barnes away from Rogers than it was seeing him suffer. Besides, the man had suffered enough during his years with HYDRA.

 

So as the world was busy calling for Captain America's blood, Tony was working relentlessly behind the scenes to see Barnes exonerated and free to be his own person. The PR campaign, started way back in the German hospital as he waited at Rhodey's bedside; was a work of fucking genius if he could say so himself.

 

Months upon months of the covert ground work, paving the way for an epic road to redemption for Barnes. Everybody knows that the world loved a good comeback story. And James Buchanan Barnes was a story for the ages.

 

It was child's play to drum up sympathy for the brainwashed POW. Whereas Rogers was a hero pulled off his shiny pedestal, Barnes was an underdog clawing his way up from the filth of being HYDRA's attack dog. People felt for him, they related to him.

 

They supported him when he stood in front of the Accords Council, cleaned up and contrite, empty left sleeve pinned neatly for all to see. They cheered for him as he submitted himself for extensive, court mandated psychiatric evaluation and treatment . They welcomed him when he came out the other side, stable and sane and oh so grateful to be alive and free.

 

It was only natural that the New Avengers soon offered him a spot on the team. Offered him a chance to pick up Captain America's Shield (the new one Tony had made from vibranium gifted to him by a grateful Queen Shuri) and take up the legendary mantle. Barnes had been humbled, so very grateful to Tony for his help, for his friendship, for his new and improved arm. He'd blushed and accepted, smiling as the rest of the team cheered.

 

Brooklyn welcomed him back with open arms, claiming their son in a way they'd never really done with Rogers. After that came the rest of the world. Men respected him, women wanted him, children loved him. All the love they'd had for Rogers. All the hope they'd held in their heroes. All the faith they had in humanity. They saw it all in Barnes' redemption.

 

Unlike Rogers though, Barnes accepted and owned up to his flaws. Never trying to deny them or hide them behind false facade of perfection. He humanized the role, bringing more nuance to the role of Captain. He also fit in perfectly with the team, working well in training and on the field.

 

He had a dry sense of humour and an easy charm that endeared people to him, be they politicians, radio hosts or little old ladies on the street. He also had his moody silences when the Soldier came closer to the surface. He would sit in corners and work his way steadily through Tony's extensive library of books and movies.

 

Not to mention he was hot as burning.

 

And Tony had always liked pretty things that were hot as burning.

 

He especially liked the way Barnes eyes rolled back in his head as he came untouched off Tony's cock deep inside him. He also liked the look in those bright and pretty eyes as he sucked Tony's brains out through his dick. His favourite so far was when Barnes whispered soft 'I love yous' into Tony's neck as they came down from the afterglow.

 

Tony always believed that the best revenge wasn't served cold but was found in a life well lived. He'd never been a fan of things that were cold, even revenge. It also gave him a deep sense of satisfaction that he had Rogers' ultimate 'trophy wife' in his bed, in his arms, on his team and so very far away from the man who'd sought to stand against the entire the world for him.

 

James 'Please don't call me Bucky' Barnes to the public. Winter Soldier to his team mates. JB to his friends. Yasha to his lover.

 

No longer Steve's Bucky. Or Hydra's Asset. Or Howard and Maria Stark's Killer. He was his own man. With his own mind and his own heart.

 

A heart he'd chosen to give to Tony with a soft and bashful smile. A heart that Tony carefully tucked away with the rest of his treasures with a wide smile and eyes that burned with eternal fire.

 

\-------------------------------------------------

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Tony swaggered into the smoky room and was met by a round of cheers. Making the rounds, a drink in his hand, he chatted and joked with faces he hadn't seen in a long time. Decades, even centuries shared in one way or another, one form or another.

 

Someone shoved him into a seat and he was dealt into the game without comment or question. He lost the first few rounds, accepting the good natured ribbing about what a shit player he'd always been and how he'd better prepared to lose all his coin.

 

He laughed along, mostly because it's true, mostly because he enjoyed the company so much more than mere lumps of metal dug from the earth.

 

Cool hands landed on his shoulders and as he looked up, crimson lips pressed a chilly kiss to his forehead. Fur trim slid across his cheek and he smiled, sharp and wide with eyes that sparked and burned.

 

"Hello, Dearest" Breath that smelled of the brittle, frozen flowers and the first frost of winter; blew across his warm cheek, "It's good to have you back with us."

 

"You just just missed cheating me out of my coin, that's all." Tony chuckled, glancing around the table at the myriad of forms present. "Admit it, all of you."

 

"Well… you are shit as poker… " A being with no mouth and a voice that sounded like grinding stones huffed out through its neck slits, "…. and you have such pretty baubles. It's fun taking them from you."

 

"It's your charm…" Another being laughed, flipping blue black hair that moved and swelled like snakes, their forked tongue tipping out from between jagged yellow teeth. "You come here. You lose your money. You make us laugh with your sharp and witty jokes. This is why we like you."

 

Tony found himself flushing, his cheeks glowing yellow as he smiled, his eyes sparking with pleasure. An icy hand cupped his heated cheek, steam hissing from contact.

 

"Don't fish for compliments Dearest. You know we all missed you so." cool fingers carded through his hair. "Even with you keeping this new face of yours."

 

"Yeah… " Tony chuckled, running his fingertips over his van dyke. "I think that I'm gonna keep this one for a while. It has a lot of potential."

 

He drained his drink and called for another, his mind running over the life of Tony Stark and the treasures he held close to his chest. His Rhodey, his Pepper and His Happy. His Bots and AIs. His Iron Man suit. His New Avengers. His lover waiting in bed, sleep warm and needy for him.

 

His smiled, sharp and wide, his eyes burning bright as the sun and stars.

 

Yes… This one had a lot of potential indeed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you do not know how badly i wanted to post this by chapters. but i decided on the first day that this would be a one shot and i stuck to it. Go Me!!!
> 
> In this fic, Tony is not the actual devil. He is more like a demonic or supernatural being. i started out this story with him as a fire demon but ended up making him more like a dragon.
> 
> However you want to interpret it is fine with me.


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